


Taps

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The squad has lost a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taps

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #16 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"You inspire it.  It's the kind of man you are."_

 

          The knock on the Colonel's door was soft and unfamiliar.  The officer glanced up, an irritated expression marring the usually handsome face.  _Now what?_ he wondered.  _I'm never going to get these requisitions finished if this keeps up_.

          "In," he called, expecting one of Blackwood Project members.  Seeing who it was shifted the look to surprise.  "Sergeant," he greeted, the tone slightly hesitant. "What can I do for you?"

          Platoon Sergeant John Derriman entered the sparse but tastefully decorated office, closing the door behind him.  "Colonel, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I might have a word with ya?" the man asked in a troubled Kentucky drawl.

          "Have a seat, Derriman."

          The Sergeant lowered himself into the high-backed leather seat, shifting to find a comfortable position, but it was the topic, not the furniture, that bothered him.  "Sir, it's about this new training routine…"

          "Is there a problem?"

          "In a manner of speaking, yes, sir."

          Laying aside the pen he was holding, Ironhorse folded his hands on top of the open file and glowered.  "Explain."

          "Sir, the squad feels that you're pushing just a little too hard.  They—"

          "Hard?  Sergeant, this isn't some kind of field exercise we're conducting here, in case you hadn't noticed.  We're at war… with _aliens_."

          "Yes, sir, I'm well aware of that.  But—"

          "Do you agree with this assessment?"

          "Yes, sir, I'm afraid I do."

          The Colonel paused.  Derriman was one of the best NCO's Ironhorse had ever worked with – and he'd pulled quite a few strings to get the Sergeant attached to Omega Squad.  They had served in Vietnam, the Sergeant helping to teach the then green Lt. Ironhorse how to survive in the jungles.  If he agreed…

"Derriman, I need a squad that's at a hundred and ten percent, all the time.  That's the only way we're going to beat these things."

          "Yes, sir, I agree, but you're askin' for a hundred and twenty-five."

          The Colonel leaned back in his chair, his expression guarded as he searched himself to see if the man was right.

          Derriman waited a moment before he added.  "Colonel, if you don't mind my sayin', you've been pushin' a little harder every day since we got back from Portland.  I understand that.  But after we lost Willis you stepped it up again."

          Ironhorse's black eyes locked on the Sergeant's brown.  "What're you suggesting, Sergeant?"

          "Just that we lost a man, and—"

          "I've lost men before."

          "Sir, I know the scuttlebutt you hear can be about as useful as a dog barkin' at a knothole, but—"

          Ironhorse couldn't suppress the small smile the euphemism elicited, but he cut the man off anyway.  "And what _are_ they saying, Derriman?"

          "That you lost a whole squad to these 'terrorists' a while back and now you're… overcompensating."

          The Colonel stood and walked to one of the office windows.  Clasping his hands behind his back, he cleared his throat, then spoke.  "Maybe I am, Sergeant.  But not for the reasons you're hearing.  Before I was assigned to this Project, Delta Squad and I went after what we _thought_ were terrorists.  They were terrorists… once.  But they were aliens.  I lost an entire squad to those bastards – twelve good men, Sergeant."

          "Yes, sir.  I knew a few of them."

          "You know the aliens take over human bodies."

          "Yes, sir."

          "I don't want to have to pull the trigger on any more of my own men.  I want you people over-prepared for anything."  He turned to face Derriman.  "Because it's not just us, or the mission, or the country anymore.  It's the whole damned planet that's at stake.  We have to stay on top of these… _things_.  And we have to protect Blackwood and his people, no matter what it takes, until they can find a way to kill them."

          The older man nodded.  "I understand that, Colonel.  And God knows I agree with you, but I remember a green LT in 'Nam who was afraid ta get close to his men.  Afraid it would break down discipline, or hurt too much when one of 'em got blown away right in front of 'im."

          Turning back to the relative safety of the windows once again, Ironhorse nearly whispered.  "What's your point, Sergeant?"

          "That LT learned he had ta find a middle ground.  He had ta get close enough so his men would follow him past the gates of Hell, but he had to stay far enough away so he could write the letters home when the time came.  Have you found that middle ground here, Colonel?"

          Ironhorse did not turn around as he said, "Thank you, Sergeant.  That will be all."

          "Yes, sir."  Derriman stood, staring at his commander's back, looking for anything that would tell him Ironhorse had accepted what he'd said.  There was nothing.

Walking to the door he gripped the knob, saying,  "You have good people here, Colonel.  We need more, but until we get 'em, we'll be ready."

          Opening the door the NCO stepped out, pulling it closed behind him, but not before he heard the Colonel said quietly, "Thank you, Sergeant."

          "You're welcome, sir."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Colonel?  Something wrong?"

          Ironhorse looked up from his chair to find Harrison Blackwood standing in front of him, his hands on his hips and a concerned frown on his face.

          "You looked like you were miles away," the scientist added.

          Glancing back to the recently banked fire in the fireplace, Ironhorse sighed softly. "I was, Doctor."

          "Anything you'd like to share?" Blackwood asked, not expecting the taciturn soldier to take him up on it.

          "I just mailed a letter to Mrs. Willis…  I was remembering the first time I had to write one of these damned things."

          Harrison nodded.  Corporal Anthony Willis had survived the encounter with the aliens at the Portland truck yards, but on their next mission he had been brutally murdered by the Mortaxans he had cornered – his wounds were so severe that they were forced to seal the casket.  He was the first casualty in the Colonel's newly formed Omega squad.  The man's death had taken its toll on all of them, making the war they fought more real, and more tragic.  Blackwood knew Ironhorse was riding his new squad hard, determined not to lose any of them like he had the Delta Force unit that the aliens had taken over.

          "Parents?" he asked.

          Ironhorse nodded.  "I stipulated that all squad members be unmarried, but there are still parents, brothers, sisters."

          "You could require that they be orphans, too," the physicist suggested.  The dark cloud that passed across the Colonel's face told Harrison that his attempt at humor had failed, miserably.  "I'm sorry, Paul.  Bad joke."

          Ironhorse sighed heavily.  "The funny thing is, I considered it."

          "This really bothers you."

Ironhorse nodded.

"Why?" Harrison asked.  "You must have written more of these than anyone ever should."

          "I have, Doctor, and it doesn't make them any easier."

          "I didn't think it did."

          "Sergeant Derriman came to talk to me today."

          "I saw him.  Something wrong?" Harrison asked, sitting down on the floor in front of the fire.

          "He said the squad's unhappy with my training regime.  They think I'm overcompensating."

          "Are you?"

          "That's just it.  I don't know.  Maybe.  This situation…  It's not something you can be ready for, but we have to be.  It's like Vietnam – the unseen enemy, not knowing who's who, the—"  He stopped himself before the memories could get too clear.  "But this is worse.  Different, and worse."

          "It's not good, that's for sure."

          Looking up at the physicist, Ironhorse contemplated the burden Blackwood had carried from his childhood.  "How do you do it, Harrison?"

          "I don't," the physicist replied, standing up and walking over to sit in the second chair across the fire from Ironhorse.  "I can't deal with it.  I never could.  I find ways to trick myself into not thinking about it, but it never works for very long. Even when I'm trying to remain detached it's there…  It's like a chess game that's stalemated.  I keep making moves, but it doesn't do me any good."

          "It keeps you in the game."

          Blackwood grinned.  "Yes, I guess it does…  What are you going to do about the Omega Squad?"

          "I cut back for a while, see how they do.  And, it's time for a dialogue."

          "An officer who talks _and_ listens to his people?"

          "Don't push, Blackwood.  I'll have you know that I'm considered very unorthodox in most Army circles, but it's been worth it.  And I guess I have let what happened with Delta Squad bother me too much."

          "Your men damn-near idolize you," Harrison said, stretching out his legs in front of the low burning flames.

          "I never wanted that."

          "You inspire it.  It's the kind of man you are.  As I've told you, Colonel, you're my hero, too."

          "Blackwood, please—"

          "I'm serious, Paul."

          The soldier looked away, uncomfortable under the physicist's intense gaze.  "I know we're going to lose some.  It _is_ a war.  But I want them ready so they'll have the best chance to beat these monsters."

          "And you'll find a way to give them that… without killing them before they get to the aliens."

          Ironhorse snorted.  "You should join us, Doctor, since you insist on putting your butt on the firing-line."

          "No, I leave that to you, Colonel.  I'm there to think."

          "I just wish you'd think with an automatic weapon in your hand."

          "We can't all be perfect, now can we."

          "No, I guess not, Doctor."  Ironhorse stood.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go prepare.  The Omegans and I will be conducting a memorial for Corporal Willis this evening.  I'd appreciate if you'd let the others know if I'm late for dinner."

          Blackwood watched the Colonel start to leave.  "Paul?"

          The soldier stopped.  "Hmm?"

          "Would you– Would you mind if Norton, Suzanne, and I attended?"

          The smile reached the Colonel's eyes, although his face remained neutral.  "That would be fine, Harrison.  Thank you."

          "No, Colonel.  Thank you.  And your men."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The five Omegans and the Colonel stood in front of the flag pole.  Behind them, Norton, Suzanne and Harrison watched.

          Sergeant Derriman stepped forward, a horn in his hand.  While Coleman and Stravakos lowered and folded the flag, Derriman played the sad and wistful "Taps." When the flag was finished, and the last of the song echoing over the Cottage property, Ironhorse stepped out of line.  He took three steps to join Coleman and Stravakos.  They each saluted.  He returned their salutes, then paused a moment and saluted the triangular bundle of cloth.

          Taking the icon that Corporal Anthony Willis had died for, the Colonel tucked it under his right arm, turned smartly on his toe and walked down the line of soldiers, all standing at rigid attention.

          "At ease," Paul ordered.  The squad responded.  He waited a moment, then said, "Today we say goodbye to one of our own.  Corporal Anthony Roger Willis was twenty-three years old…"

          Blackwood felt his chest tighten.  Were they really _that_ young?

          "He is survived by his mother, Doris Marie Willis, and his father, William Henry Willis.  Corporal Willis was an only child.  His parents were told that Anthony died defending this country from terrorists, that his actions were vital to the maintenance of our national security.  They will never know how true that is.  I only wish I could have told them that Anthony's sacrifice was for all of us.  I want you people to know, what we're doing here, it might not get into the history books, but if there's to be a history, we must succeed.  Corporal Willis is at peace.  We are still at war.  I hope his memory will live among those who know what it is that we're fighting for.  Sergeant."

          Derriman snapped to attention.  "'Tention!"  The four remaining members of the squad drew themselves up.  Looking at Ironhorse, Derriman saluted for the squad.

          The Colonel returned the gesture, then nodded at the assembled group.  "Dismissed, people."

          The five soldiers took a collective step backward, about-faced and relaxed.  As a group they started back for the guest house.

          "Derriman, can I see you for a moment," Ironhorse called after them.  The Platoon Sergeant broke away and joined the officer.

          "Yes, sir?"

          "I want you to take the squad into town, relax.  Take a mobile phone in case there's trouble, and don't overdo it.  0600 tomorrow I want them ready for a ten-mile timed run."

          Derriman's lips puckered slightly at the corners as he fought back the smile.  "Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir."

          "No, Sergeant, thank you.  Now, get out of here before I change my mind."

          The man nodded, then jogged off to relay the news.  A whoop was the answer from the others.

          Ironhorse shook his head, then rejoined the rest of the Blackwood Project members.

          "That was very nice, Paul," Suzanne said.

          "Nice?  Nice has nothing to do with it, Suzanne.  They're people, like anyone else.  They need to blow off steam."

          "Ever practice what you preach, Colonel?" Norton asked, his eyes twinkling.

          "And what does that mean, Mr. Drake?"

          "It means Norton has perfected another of his amazing computer games and is looking for a sucker, I mean, volunteer to try it out," Harrison explained.

          "You were right the first time, Doc," the black man grinned.

          "Paul, play games?" Suzanne asked the pair, ignoring Ironhorse like he wasn't there.  "Are you sure we're all talking about the same Colonel?"

          "Now, just a minute, Suzanne, I can enjoy myself as much as the next guy," Paul defended himself.

          "Oh?" Blackwood teased.  "And when was the last time _you_ relaxed?"

          "Doctor, I have—"

          "That's what I thought," Harrison interrupted.  "What do you say we go out for a little fun ourselves tonight?"

          "Now you're talkin', Doc!"

          "I haven't been anyplace in ages," Suzanne added.

          "Why do I feel like a sacrificial lamb here, people?"

          "Now, Colonel," Blackwood said seriously.  "Why would you think that?  Sounds like a bad case of paranoia to me."  Slipping one arm around Suzanne's shoulder, his free hand resting on the back of Norton's wheelchair, the threesome started away.  "So, what'll it be?"

          "I'd like to see if he dances," Suzanne said.

          "How about that place with video games?  I bet I can beat him on, oh, eighty percent of them," Norton added.

          "I was thinking about the restaurant with the exotic vegetarian dishes—"

          "Now just a damn minute!" the Colonel stormed, starting off after them.

          Laughter was their only reply.


End file.
